


Alone No More

by orphan_account



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Ben Solo has no chill. At all, Crossover, F/M, Marauder's Era, Professor Ben Solo, Soulmates, healer Rey, non-voldemort au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-26
Updated: 2020-02-26
Packaged: 2021-02-27 21:36:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,370
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22912597
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: "Ben Solo is utterly alone.And not simply in the sense his classroom is empty, all his classes taught and ended for the day, and he’s forgone joining the throngs of students and professors for dinner in the Great Hall—no, no....He doesn’t even hate the fact that he has a soulmate out there. That he was chosen for this magic.He just wishes all of this introspection didn’t shed light to the fact that he’sSo.Incredibly.Lonely."A REYLO SOULMATE AU! In which there was no Voldemort and Ben and Remus are friends. Because that I needed to write that friendship. Oh, and Rey is training to be a Healer :)
Relationships: Rey/Ben Solo | Kylo Ren
Comments: 52
Kudos: 198





	Alone No More

**Author's Note:**

  * For [diasterisms](https://archiveofourown.org/users/diasterisms/gifts).



> AHHHHHHH!!!! I'm so terrified... but dear, dear diasterisms. Your amazing fic had me thinking that Professor Solo would have a kindred spirit in Professor Lupin... and I can't just leave him alone at Hogwarts--enter third year Healer trainee Rey!   
> I hope you enjoy!!! <3 Thank you for sharing your amazing words with the fandom. 
> 
> Alpha love to madi_solo and Fumpologist. Beta props and endless gratitude to ravenslight--truly, thank you, my friend! All remaining errors are my own. 
> 
> I own no part of LF or HP franchise and no copyright infringement intended. This was for fun!

* * *

Ben Solo is utterly alone. 

And not simply in the sense his classroom is empty, all his classes taught and ended for the day, and he’s forgone joining the throngs of students and professors for dinner in the Great Hall—no, no. 

He’d known loneliness before in his life, a hazard of growing up an only child sometimes. His mother, Leia, had always been a dedicated public servant with MACUSA and more about her work than being there for Ben—okay, that isn’t fair to believe. Ben knows that now. Leia, the daughter of former-President Padme Amidala, had been quite the scandal back in the day when she’d married Han Solo, a no-maj nobody from nowhere pilot, and it’d taken decades of tireless dedication to earn her way back into the good graces of the government she served. 

Then there was Han, who’d tried. He honestly had and still does. He and Ben have made a great many strides to rebuilding their relationship after Ben’s tumultuous youth and early adult years. And Ben prefers not to think of his former-headmaster and uncle, Professor Skywalker, that often.

Luke had been part of what’d driven Ben to the arms of Snoke and the First Order and that had been… bad. It’s a time in Ben’s past he’d rather forget. Or, better yet, have expunged from his memory altogether. Maybe that would help him and Han with their… issues… yeah _. Issues _ . Things they’re still working through. 

He hates that coming to Hogwarts and dwelling amongst adolescents has dumbed his vocabulary to  _ bloody, bollocks, git,  _ and  _ mental _ . He also hates that he’s learned an entire dictionary’s worth of new vulgarity since coming to know Sirius Black. 

He hates that he’s thirty and feeling the oldest he ever has, which he realises sounds obvious and remedial on an intellectual level, but there’s no other way to think of it. In the three years since he’s first come to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, he’s never felt such a contrast between himself and his students as he does this year. Never felt the need to bang heads together to have young boys shut up and listen, or wear a disguise in class so the girls would focus more on their spell casting and not so lost in  _ staring _ …. And— and… Circe, it’s only the beginning of October. 

He hates that he’s allowed himself to feel this way—so very  _ grumpy _ . Even Remus has commented on it, asking him daily if he’s getting enough sleep, offering to loan him more books or get up earlier so they can extend their morning runs along the castle grounds to seventy-five minutes if he needs the extra time. Thirty was merely another year, a new decade. Ben shouldn’t be twisted into so many knots over this.

He  _ shouldn’t _ . 

Most of all, he’s so  _ bloody lonely _ , and he loathes it. 

He blames it entirely on the angry red and gnarled scar on his upper right arm that manifested when he was twenty. He hates the healer’s over-simplified explanation of it as an act of “rare and ancient soul magic.” He’s done the research and has decided that he’d just rather never have been chosen to receive a soul mate. Ever. 

Not when it means living in a constant state of masked curiosity and vulnerability. Always yearning for  _ more _ , for a sort of unconditional friendship and companionship. The type he’s never known before but believes deep in his heart  _ must _ exist. Because he knows he would offer all of himself to give that to his soulmate. And he hopes she would for him, too… And it’s more than a little frustrating living in the duality of constantly wondering if today could be  _ the  _ day but coming to realize that after a decade of disappointment it likely won’t be.

Then there’s the studying of the scar. The deep questions of what could have caused such an injury, the worrying over how it came to appear on the  _ other  _ person… If they’re all right now…? Or worse still, have they been afflicted with a similar scar from injuries suffered by  _ him _ ? 

It’s overwhelming so far this year, and Ben’s frankly done with it. 

So he huffs and clicks his tongue and continues to mark fifteen inch long essays breaking down the wand movements of hexes versus jinxes, ignoring the growling of his stomach… And this insufferable nagging  _ pull  _ on his brain to  _ come  _ to the Great Hall. He swears if Sirius has been tampering with his breakfast or lunch again, testing out some new prank… Well, no amount of placating excuses from Remus can keep that wizard safe from Ben’s wrath. 

Several rolls of parchments later, and Ben sighs, dropping his quill into the inkpot, pinching the bridge of his nose. The thing is though, when Ben permits himself the time and energy to ruminate over everything, he doesn’t truly hate any of it. 

Snoke? Maybe… For all his manipulative grooming while he was in school—yeah, all right. He’s not to the point of pitying that old bastard, but he’s no longer at the point when he dreams of new ways to kill him… 

Luke, his parents… No, he doesn’t hate any of them. 

He doesn’t even hate the fact that he  _ has _ a soulmate out there. That he was chosen for this magic. 

He just wishes all of this introspection didn’t shed light to the fact that he’s 

So. 

Incredibly.

Lonely.

* * *

“Have I done something, mate?” 

“No.” 

“Was it Sirius?” 

“Not lately.” 

“Well, why the bloody hell have you been avoiding me?” 

“ _ Avoiding? _ ” Ben is a tad incredulous as his hand slams down over the book, but he feels he has a right to be. “We run six of the seven mornings in a week together. There’s breakfast and lunch, and it’s not an uncommon occurrence for us to be found as we are now—” he gestures over the books then up around their alcove in the library “—and you’re claiming I’ve been  _ avoiding  _ you?” 

Remus simply blinks at him in that seemingly all-knowing way of his. Reading, studying, assessing, as if there’s an entire inner dialogue going on between the wizard and his inner wolf, Moony. Ben refuses to flinch under his friend’s scrutiny, declining to even blink until Remus at last cants his head. “You’ve just been quieter as of late.” 

Ben’s brows shoot into his hairline at that. “Have I been one prone to small talk and idle chatter in the time you’ve known me?” 

“No, but something’s on your mind, my friend.” Ben opens his mouth, but Remus simply waves him off, looking back to his own book and lesson notes. “And I hope you know that you can always come to me. Sirius, too, for that matter.” 

Several long beats of silence pass as the wizards go about their work. That’s one of the things Ben appreciates about Remus—he gauges the situation before plunging ahead and forcing conversation, unlike Sirius. There’s all in all more teasing, and that famous brash Gryffindor cockiness to Sirius that keep Ben from becoming as great a friend with him as Remus. He reminds Ben entirely too much of Poe, and Poe is a living representation of a path Ben opted to  _ not _ take.

Well, Remus  _ had _ asked. And Sirius is currently occupied with supervising back-to-back Quidditch practices with Gryffindor and Hufflepuff tonight… Now’s as good a time as any to get something off his chest…    
  
“It’s nothing I’m sure I can quite put my finger on yet,” Ben admits, voice low. “I find I’m needing time to myself after classes this year, and yet, there’s a… a loneliness I can’t seem to shake.” Remus arches a brow while Ben lifts a shoulder and shakes his head. “It’s nothing I’ve not experienced before, but just something I find more pressing and weighing this school year, and I’m not entirely certain why.” 

“I see.” Remus nods, rubbing several fingers over his chin. “I don’t know if there’s much I can say that would help, but if I may make a suggestion: don’t skip dinner again tomorrow. You’ve been sluggish the last two mornings, and Moony’s quite put out we’ve set a slower pace so close to the moon. He’s threatened to take up flying with Sirius in the mornings if you’re not back to usual again soon.” 

Ben chuckles at that; it’s not a real laugh, but it’s something that sends cracks through his facade of cool composure, and that’s enough for now. “Sure thing. My apologies to Moony.” 

“He accepts, while I reiterate you have friends here.” Remus gives him a long look. “I know it’s not something either of us are used to outside of a select few, but do try to take advantage of us when necessary.” 

“All right.”

“Aaaaaannnndd,” Remus continues, brows waggling as he looks back to his work, “you’ve not had a chance to meet the new member of our staff since you missed out on dinner. Moony’s been going mad to have the two of you meet for whatever reason.” 

Ben stares at the wizard, face twisting as his head tilts in confusion, but Remus doesn’t acknowledge him. So Ben doesn’t ask, thinking no more of that odd statement for the night.

* * *

“Ah, Miss Johnson!” Remus calls, lengthening his stride to catch up to this… this… newcomer. From what he can tell from her back and the way she startles at her name being called, Ben thinks she hardly looks that much older than a student herself—though he cannot place the name to a graduate in the years since he’s been here. He’s so busy trying to place the three-bun updo (a very  _ cute _ updo, at that) that he nearly misses that Remus is still walking ahead  _ and talking _ . “Completed Healer training in record time, have you? And now here to take over the job from our beloved Poppy?” 

The girl— _ Miss Johnson _ , apparently—finally turns around so Ben can see if he can place the face…

He can’t. 

But he’s having a hard time recalling much more beyond his name at the moment. Because she’s… well, she’s  _ beautiful _ . There’s little more Ben can think to add to do her justice. Her lips are full— _ kissably full, _ his treacherous mind thinks—and they’re parted as she turns, but she seems to stall as her bright hazel eyes dart back and forth between Remus and Ben. Then back to Remus, then back to Ben again. He tries to stifle the surge of... of  _ something _ —something terrifying—as her freckle-spattered, cream-coloured cheeks flush a delicious shade of pink. Ben’s mouth is suddenly very,  _ very _ dry. And something—his heart, perhaps, but he’s not sure—is now lodged in his throat. 

She seems to recover well enough— _ or had it all been his imagination _ —squaring her shoulders and looking to only Remus now. “I’m finishing out my last year here, Professor Lupin,” she says brightly, proffering her hand to Remus for a friendly, familiar looking shake. “It’s a bit irregular, but I presented a solid enough case with the program’s Board of Trustees for them to allow the majority of my practicum year to be spent at Hogwarts, focusing more with the target group I eventually would like to work with.” 

“Ah, then you  _ are _ vying for Poppy’s job?” 

“No!” 

Her flush deepens and something primal, some deep and protective instinct within Ben, wants to  _ punch  _ Remus—not hex or jinx or even challenge to a duel as civilized wizards do.  _ Punch _ . 

She bites down on her lip briefly before huffing and lifting her chin. “Well, I suppose if she’s ever going to retire, the notion crossed my mind that I could be considered an appropriate candidate for the position,  _ but _ I’m here for the hands-on experience for now.” She pauses, lifting her gaze and a hand to the high-arching ceiling and grey stone walls. “The fact that I was a bit homesick had nothing to do with it.” 

“Hogwarts has missed you, Miss Johnson.” Remus smiles, folding his hands together. “I’m sorry we’ve not had the chance to sit nearer at dinner yet; you wouldn’t have to be repeating yourself for the tenth time, I’m sure.”

“Thank you, Professor Lupin—”

“Remus, please. You’re here as a professional, and I’m simply Remus to co-workers and friends. And  _ this _ —” he claps a hand across Ben’s shoulders “—is Professor Ben Solo. He took the open position of Defense Against the Dark Arts professor fall term after your class graduated.” 

Ben, who’s begun to feel a third wheel in all this  _ lovely _ catching up, now has the extreme displeasure of determining how to swallow one’s heart as sparkling hazel eyes settle on him. 

“Ben,” she says, holding her hand out to him. “I’m Rey.” 

His hand lifts, palm brushing hers before his fingers close over her dainty hand—

His magic sings. 

_ Sings _ .

Ben. can’t. breathe. 

He swears the very air crackles with magic around them; sparks ignite and flurry and scurry overhead… And maybe it’s not just him, because her eyes have gone wide, too. At least as wide as he presumes his now are, and everything within him hums and thrums to a frantic beat. 

He blinks, and the moment passes, leaving him utterly bereft. He’s just standing there, wherever they are (he’s forgotten now) and he’s wanting.  _ Longing _ . As if an invisible orchestra ceased to play before resolving the suite. This...  _ this _ is what he’s been waiting for since the day that strange scar manifested on his arm.

“Rey,” he finally croaks, dropping her hand because he just can’t  _ deal _ with this—whatever all  _ this _ is—in the middle of… He looks around and that’s right. He’s standing in the middle of a corridor that will soon be filled with students finishing their lunch. With Remus here, too. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.” 

“You as well.” A smile splits her face and it’s…  _ yeah _ … All those years pouring into classic literature, no-maj and wizarding, summer reading clubs, and all his brain can muster in response to her smile was ‘yeah’.  _ Dad would be so proud _ . “Guess I’ll be seeing you, Rey.” 

“I’m certain of that.  _ Ben _ .” Her smile transforms into a full-on beam; she’s the sun itself emitting light and warmth and music into his bones, and— “See you later Remus. You’ll give my regards to Prof—I mean Sirius, yeah?” 

“Of course,” Remus says. “See you later.” 

All available air squeezes from Ben’s lungs as the g— _ Rey _ , her name’s Rey— turns on her heel and sets a near jogging pace to the staircase, charging up two or three at a time until she’s no longer in sight...

“So… that was interesting…” 

Ben loosens something between a growl and a groan, cursing under his breath. He’d forgotten about Remus again, and bollocks keenly observant werewolves for friends, as he’s learned to say. 

Remus only snorts. “Yes, yes, curse me for being your friend and walking with you to class all you want. But it could have been Sirius with you, and I think we both can venture to surmise how  _ that  _ would have gone.” 

Well, bugger Sirius, too, then. 

It’s clear that Ben will need new friends for self-preservation reasons. The only other option is run the risk of going to Azkaban for double homicide due to incessant teasing.

* * *

It’s been three days. Three whole days of appearing at every last meal for a chance to sit near (or beside) Rey, and Ben simply cannot catch a break. 

For one, Rey isn’t there. At any meal. He’s not caught sight of her in three days, and it’s maddening. Then there’s the fact Remus is far too smug for his own good, and it’s frankly coming to a near unbearable point. To the point Ben set a ridiculous pace for their run this morning, and this insufferable werewolf seems to think he knows precisely why—and he might. He just might, but Ben refuses to give him the satisfaction. 

He’s in a foul disposition as he makes for the library to work on his lesson plans after dinner. His fourth year Hufflepuff and Slytherin performance scores on counter-jinxes weren’t quite as he’d been hoping, and he’s concerned they’re either not grasping the concept or failing to understand the importance of such instinctual knowledge, especially in their final year before O.W.L.s. He stomps still as he enters Madam Pince’s sacred domain, daring her to hiss and shush him, daring Remus or Sirius to offer just  _ one _ smirk so he can rid himself of some of this unnecessary frustration—

“Hello there.” 

He stops short, because it’s neither Remus nor Sirius looking up from a large tome as he stalks up to the table. It’s Rey. 

_ Rey.  _

His mind is fuzzy, and it takes him an embarrassingly long time to remember she’s said something to him and he’s supposed to respond. Because that’s how normal, civilized people behave. 

“Sorry! I presumed Remus or Sirius told you,” Rey blurts out before he has a chance to speak. “I’ve lots of studying to do before rounds tomorrow morning; I haven’t been called on to answer questions in two days, and I just know Healer Thames will call on me for every obscure and random case, so I’m trying to be as prepared as possible, and why are you still standing?” A look passes across her face, and her tone drops as she closes her book. “Sorry. Really sorry. I can see now you weren’t previously informed and I’m invading your space. I’ll pack up and be on my—” 

“Please don’t.” He drops his bag in a chair across the table from her, finally remembering how to speak. And smile… and  _ breathe _ . “You’re invading nothing, and I’m happy to have some new company.” 

“Thanks.” 

“Of course.” He pulls parchment rolls, an inkpot, and several quills from his bag. “I was actually curious where you’d been hiding. I haven’t seen you at meals the past few days—are you eating?” He’s unable to keep the concern from his voice. 

“Oh! Yeah, so I still have to attend morning rounds at St. Mungo’s so I usually grab some tea and toast or a scone there, and I feel so guilty for arriving here midmorning that I work through lunch.” Her jaw snaps shut and her hand drops, as does her gaze. She stares at the cookie for a beat before lifting her eyes back to his. “The truth is I feel guilty enough for not being here at the very beginning of the term to assist Madame Pomfrey with all her preparations for the new term. Apparently my request was so irregular that it took a while to work out the parameters and logistics of it all, thus making me an entire month late.” 

His head tilts of its own accord as he holds her gaze. 

She sighs and looks back to her books, making a few notes before adding, “I suspect it’s partly because I’m the only Muggle-born in my class, and that Mrs. Parkinson and Mrs. Malfoy are prejudiced and pretentious gits, but you didn’t hear that from me.” She speaks so low he could almost admit that he hadn’t heard anything at all.

He has many questions he wants to ask her. Questions like  _ Why do you feel the need to earn your food?  _ and  _ Why are you feeling shame over something beyond your control?  _ And  _ If I asked you, would you let me make them suffer for slighting you?  _

Ben files these things away for another time, though, and finds himself smirking and flashing a conspiratorial wink, as he denies even being aware they were in conversation. She breaks out into a luminous smile of her own, and they fall into a comfortably silent rhythm of work. The only sounds exchanged between them for a time are the scratching of quills over parchment and the flipping of pages. And he’s impressed she doesn’t catch him eyeing her from the corner of his eye, because, honestly, it’s hard to keep from staring every so often. She’s gnawing on her lip and messing with one of her buns, then tucking back hair that’s still behind her ear, and what in the name of Merlin is he supposed to do when his magic purrs at her every movement?

That’s right:  _ purrs _ . 

He’s suddenly all the more sympathetic to Remus’ plight of an inner wolf seeking attention any given moment of the day. It’s a lie to say he can’t remember all the specifics that go into soulmate magic and soul bonds, but as she’s not bringing it up, and he’s not yet acting on urges to cup her cheeks and kiss her as he thinks she deserves to be kissed… all is fairly well at this point in time…

Until he hears Rey’s stomach growl. Quite loudly at that. 

He lays his quill down as he blinks up at her, finding her cheeks and neck a vibrant red, one arm already wrapping around her body. 

“Sorry,” she starts, eyes dropping to her work. “I got caught up in re-organizing the potions cabinet for efficient restocking, but by then it was time to study…” 

She trails off, and as if on pure instinct (and maybe it  _ is _ for a variety of reasons), he reaches in and pulls out his tin of ginger cookies. It’s a stash he always keeps on hand since he discovered the house elves are more than pleased to keep him in full supply, and who is he to argue such generosity? He leaves them generous holiday presents every Halloween, Christmas, Easter. And one each before school lets out for the summer for good measure. 

Ben lifts the lid, nudging it into the space between them. “Would you like some?” 

“Oh.” She sits there blinking at them until her eyes light up, and she’s reaching out, taking two in a single hand. “Only if you’re sure...” 

“Please.” He waves his hand over the tin. “Have as many as you like. It seems I’ve been otherwise abandoned and you’re my guest for the evening.” Her brows lift, and she stops just before the cookie makes it to her mouth, and it's only then that he winces. “That is… I mean… you can study here anytime. You’d be a welcome addition.” 

“Thank you,” she says before biting into a cookie, emitting the most  _ glorious _ moan he’s ever heard… And he’s suddenly adjusting his pants and laying hand over his lap and more than a little grateful there’s a table covering his lower body and he’s not so…  _ exposed _ . “Merlin,” she breathes, finishing off the first cookie in one-and-half more bites. “No one else makes proper biscuits like the Hogwarts elves—not even the elves at St. Mungo’s, and I can’t understand it.” 

“Shocking,” he manages, feeling proud of himself for contriving that much a response as she’s started on the second cookie and her eyes fall shut as she chews and chews… 

“Inexcusable and unfathomable if you ask me,” she amends, eyeing him then the tin. With a nonverbal spell, he floats the tin to sit opposite her inkpot, holding her gaze until she takes up two more cookies. She starts eating again and he determines to focus on his syllabus…

Extra exercises…

Stances, pairings, partners, alternate seating arrangements—anything to shake things up and have these students seeing the value this section of Defense, and—

Rey interrupts him with a, “Thank you.” It’s soft and kind and one of the most genuine sounds he’s ever heard. 

“You’re welcome,” he answers, meeting her waiting eyes. “Have the whole tin if you want; there’s no Sirius here to bribe into silence tonight.”    
  
“Godric,” she snorts, “I don’t know if anyone’s ever told him how long-winded he is, or if he simply doesn’t give a rat’s ass…” Only, she doesn’t say ‘ass’ like his mother or Grandmother Padme would; it’s with a full-on British accent and more like ‘ _ arse’ _ , which he should’ve expected, but it’s sooooooo adorable. 

And Ben needs to think of something safe like more conversation before he does something incredibly stupid, like ask her if she’s seeing anyone. Or if she has a scar on her upper right arm too, and how it got there. Or if she’d like to come back to his quarters with him tonight, and maybe stay forever. Or marry him come end of term—

He doubles up and not only coughs, but  _ clears his throat _ for something extra to do. “For what it’s worth,” he starts, lips twisting in a lopsided grin, “and not to change the subject completely, but I’m almost done here, and I think you’ll do well in rounds tomorrow. You seem to have the discipline to make a good Healer. And the fact Remus respects you says a lot.” 

“Thanks!” She’s brushing the crumbs her hands off onto the floor now, away from her notes, gold and grey flecks in her hazel irises twinkling across the table at him (he dares to hope maybe even  _ for _ him). “Remus was telling me you started up a duelling club your first year here—I think that’s brilliant! I wish it’d been an option while I was in school.” 

“Oh, yeah. Thank you.” He bobs his head twice and begins to tap his thumb over his leg. “We’ll start up after the first Hogsmeade weekend of the year. It’s not the most consistently attended—too many conflicting schedules with Prefect patrols, Quidditch practice, and then matches. Then there’s Hogsmeade, but those who put in the time for it see results by the end of the year, and that’s the main goal.” 

“Of course.” She’s still looking at him as she bites down on her lip and reaches for another cookie. “Hogsmeade weekend this Saturday, right?” 

“Yes.” 

“Are you chaperoning?”

“No.   


“Good.” Her cheeks flush, and she’s seemingly embarrassed at that immediate response even as something deep within his magic is pleased, though he doesn’t know why. “I just mean that if you’re not chaperoning, you’ll be free to go and have a walk about and enjoy a butterbeer, yeah?” 

And now he knows why… And he’s all but leaping somersaults on the inside. It’s actually quite the feat that he’s able to answer calmly and rationally, “Only if you’re the one offering, Rey.” 

She’s smiling as she nods, and it’s most definitely  _ not _ Ben’s imagination that she doesn’t stop smiling until they say their goodnights.

* * *

“You’re not, by any chance, related to Han Solo the American pilot?” 

Her question is so unexpected and completely out of nowhere that he swears, spilling his paper cup of tea. “Sorry! Sorry, sorry.” He casts a wandless  _ Scourgify  _ on himself and the ground, then checks to see if she needs it, too. 

She doesn’t. She’s the image of lovely, casual, and comfort in her denims, jumper, and scarf. He catches himself admiring the fact she’s left her hair mostly down today, half pulled away from her face while loose strands tumble around the large Gryffindor scarf and her shoulders. 

“Is there something wrong with it?” Her question startles him from his silent cataloguing of all the things he finds exquisite about her today, and she’s tugging at her hair now—tugging and her face is all screwed over to one side. “Did someone spell it red without my knowing? Bollocks, I knew it was a mistake sitting next to Sirius at breakfast this morn—”

“You’re perfect,” he blurts, regretting it instantly, because he hates the way his neck, cheeks, and  _ ears  _ all heat up, and there’s no scarf to hide anything. His longer hairstyle thankfully hides his embarrassingly large ears, but she can see the rest of him blush and it’s just so… yeah. Another win for Han Solo and Sirius Black for their influence in the lack thereof regarding words. He’s about to amend his statement, but she’s gesturing in his direction, her lips parting again. 

“You clean up nicely, too,” she says, hazel eyes widening. “Not that I’ve ever seen you look bad! You look good,  _ very _ good, whenever I see you! The way you have your hair and with the tie and robes and vest instead of a jumper, you’ve got that dark, brooding, and mysterious look down. Mr. Darcy or Heathcliff himself would be jealous.”

All previous shame of spilled tea and foot-in-mouth syndrome transforms into something else entirely—quite a few some _ things _ , actually. Smug. Preening. Giddy. Excited. And they all collide together in a smirk that curls up the side of his face. “So, what you’re saying is—” His voice is dark silk, when had it learned to do  _ that? _ “—between your perfection and my anti-hero look, we’ll be the most dynamic looking duo in all of Hogsmeade?” 

She huffs, looking down as she starts walking, but it’s not fast enough for him to miss the flush of her own cheeks and the way the corners of her lips quirk. “Your words, not mine,” she mutters, giving him a side look and kicking at a rock on their path. “You haven’t answered me yet: any relation at all to Han Solo?” 

_ Ah yes.  _

She’s come back to her original question, and everything sours instantly. Not that it should, because he’s trying now and all that, and it’s not as though she’s asked him about his mother or the scandal involving their marriage. Or the First Order. Or Snoke…

His hands clench into tight fists, and he shoves them into his jacket pocket. “Yes. And I’m a little curious how you’ve come to put that together.” 

“Lucky guess. Because I know nothing about America,  _ at all _ , except to presume Solo isn’t the most common of names, and I grew up reading about him in magazines.” 

His jaw clenches and lips flatten into a thin line. Worse, much worse. She’s a  _ fan, _ and he’ll have to deal with living under the shadow of Han again, because there’s simply no buggering way he’s allowing Han the upper hand here. With  _ her _ . With his—

“Have I said something wrong? Your face is all out of sorts.”

It’s so innocent, what she says, and he releases a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. “Sorry.” He looks to her, forcing a semblance of a smile. “Is that better?” 

“I… Difficult to say actually.” She giggles and dammit if it’s not one of the most beautiful sounds he’s ever heard, and it instantly melts away all his remaining irritation (because he  _ is _ working on things, and nothing was Han’s fault). “That’s better!” Her hand floats out and up, as if it’s coming straight for his face, his cheek, his hair… She catches herself and allows her arm to drop. “Sorry. It’s like you were trying to hide behind this mask of calm while the rest of you was very angry and trying to break free. But you’re none of those things now, so I can’t have said something too bad, did I?”

“You didn’t.” He’s quick to reassure her this time, running a hand through his hair before slipping it back in his pocket. “It’s a complex relationship, but yes. Han Solo is my dad. Yes, I’ve flown lots with him and even once upon a time wanted to be in the United States Air Force, but that was a long time ago. And no, it’s not a very common name.” 

“I see,” she answers softly, but he knows she doesn’t. 

_ How could she?  _ He draws a sharp breath, readying himself for the barrage of questions she’s undoubtedly about to throw at him, all about airplanes and travel and how it was having a famous father—but to his surprise she doesn’t ask him any of those things. 

She flips the conversation back to them, back to her and him. “Airplanes were some of my first loves before Hogwarts, but once I mounted my first broom here, that was all I knew. Did you play Quidditch growing up?” 

“Mostly at school, yeah.” His throat is dry, and he has to swallow a few times. “I… didn’t have many peers my age before school, and Han laughed the first time he saw me on a broom. I didn’t touch one again until Ilvermorny and lessons were mandatory. I took to it enough to try out for my house team my second year.”

“I’m sure you were a natural. Ever win the house cup?” 

“A few times.” He bites down on his lip, but it’s no use; he’s beaming under her luminous rays again. “Sixth and seventh years stand out in my mind.”

A brow quirks at him, and she’s smirking now. “And were you captain either of those years?” 

“Both, but only because Phasma was injured early on in the season that year. Pure happenstance.”

She stops walking, but he doesn’t realise it until he’s a few paces ahead. When he turns around, she’s just... gaping at him, really. And he’s no idea what he’s said, but her hands have settled on her hips and she gives a hard shake of her head. “You expect me to believe that your captain was injured early on in the year, and the whole team, including the seventh years, united under a sixth year to be their leader for the remainder of the season and then picked you to be the captain next the next year by  _ pure happenstance _ ?”

“Well—”

He starts to speak, to come up with some form of an answer, but she’s caught up to him, and squeezes his arm. “Don’t even try to downplay yourself, which is what I think you’re going to do.” Her hazel eyes are boring into his, the flecks of gold and grey bursting with a quiet passion, and his mouth is reduced to ash and sand. She’s smiling at him again, and honestly, he can’t remember the last time someone has given him so many smiles in such a short timespan—Remus and Sirius do  _ not _ count. She adds, “You're more your father’s son than you knew you were,” and drops her hold but doesn’t move away. 

He continues in his state of stunned silent even if he wanted to, and finds he can’t do anything beyond offering an awkward “thank you” as they resume walking. 

Ben is undecided if she’s going to be the thing that breaks him or heals him, and even further undecided if he has a preference. Something whispers within him she may be both, but he doesn’t want to think too much on that. 

Not when their arms keep brushing and she doesn’t move away.

* * *

Ben admits to himself it’s turned out to be one of those truly rare, perfect picturesque days. Their walk to Hogsmeade is under a canopy of trees; their leaves in the midst of exchanging their vibrant summer greens for dazzling oranges, reds, and golden-yellows. There’s the added bonus that it hasn’t rained in almost two weeks, so the ground is dry, and there’s that satisfying experience of leaves crunching under their shoes as they meander to Hogsmeade. 

Because he can’t quite call what they’re doing ‘walking’. There’s the implication of intent or goal in walking to a specific destination; whereas, with simply meandering, it seems to be a shared common goal that they’ll arrive precisely when they mean to, but there’s really no rush. He’s happy, though. Anyone else and he’d be setting a brisk pace, using the time to burn extra calories, but today there’s Rey, and he’s content to just walk. Notice a funny tree he hadn’t before. Listen to her stories of Hogwarts and how she came to find the kitchens one night during her third year and the how the elves have doted on her ever since. 

It’s fluff and filler and all the nonsensical little things, but he’s fine with that for now at least. He loves learning that she always loved Ancient Runes, Arithmancy, and Potions. That up until her fifth year, she’d been torn between going for a potion mastery, being an Auror, or a professional Quidditch player; it wasn’t until her career talk with Professor McGonagall that she’d even thought of all the potential possibilities in being a Healer. 

“D’you want to specifically work with children?” he asks as they cross over from woods into populated magical hamlet, continuing to wander. 

“I think so, yeah.” She’s nodding and there’s a puckering to her brow that has him wondering if  _ she’s _ undecided, too. Uncertain how much to share and when… “It's a rather obvious thing, but we’re at our most vulnerable when we’re sick or injured. And I don’t just want to help solve the problem and make them better, I want to be an advocate if someone is falling through the cracks of the system or a voice for someone too young, sick, or hurt to be their own.” 

It’s decided. Ben’s in love. With Rey. When he starts talking more with Leia again, she’ll love her, too. Grandmother Padmé will ardently  _ adore _ her, and Han… 

_ Dad’ll like her, too _ , he thinks to himself, grabbing and holding the door to the bookstore for her as they continue roaming without any true goal in mind. They’re browsing and talking titles, exchanging lists of favourite authors, textbooks, and wizarding fiction series. They’re also discussing non-magical literature, too, because it seems Rey’s not a fan of  _ The Hobbit _ and Ben  _ needs _ to change her mind on that. 

He doesn’t even consider what time it must be until Rey’s stomach gives a very loud protest at being ignored. She blushes but seems to try to cover it up with a shrug, asking if he’s all right with popping into the Three Broomsticks. 

He agrees because she’s hungry and wants food, and at this point, he’s decided he’ll do almost anything in the world for her—but then Sirius and Remus wave them over, and he’s changed his mind. He’ll take her to Hog’s Head or somewhere in Muggle London for her to eat anything she wants, but he just... can’t…

“Hullo!” she exclaims, ambling over to their table, leaving Ben no choice but to follow. 

“Hello, hello!” Sirius all but envelopes her in a massive hug, his grey eyes laughing as he pulls her down on the seat beside him at their booth. “And how’s my favorite former-student today?” 

“You never change, do you, Sirius?” 

“He does not, unfortunately,” Remus answers over his pint of butterbeer, and Rey giggles before  launching into an informative ramble about her shared day with Ben thus far. 

Ben finds himself conflicted over the whole scenario. He sees Remus motioning for him to sit beside him, and he does, but he’s hesitant about it, holding his breath as though he’s dipping his toe in the water. He’s not sure he likes the reminder that Rey wasn’t a student  _ that  _ long ago—it has him feeling far too old, stuffy, and all wrong for such a vivacious, lively witch. Then there’s the fact that every conversation with Sirius appears to be a flirtatious encounter from the outside looking in, and finally, he’s enjoyed these private hours with Rey, and he wants to keep them as such for a little while longer, thank you very much. 

“Ho-ho! What spell have you cast over our DADA professor, Healer Johnson?” Sirius looks positively feral with the possibility of scandal, and Ben draws a very sharp inhale, realising he’s not certain where this is going. “Benny-boy  _ never _ talks about his father,” Sirius continues. “Believe me, I’ve tried. You know all about my flying motorcycle, Rey, and I’ve tried for years to get him to introduce me to the famous Han Solo, but he’s tight-lipped over old family details and refuses every time.” 

_ That’s enough _ . Ben swears loudly, shoving himself from his seat. He can feel all eyes from surrounding tables on him, but he only has eyes for Sirius, and they’re narrowed and deadly. “It’s none of your business, as I’ve said before, and maybe if you wouldn’t be such a wanker about it all—as  _ you _ would say—” 

“Careful, Solo.” Sirius cuts his eyes at Ben, leaning nearer to Rey. “Is that any way for the son of the Vice President of MACUSA to act?” 

“I think you and I both know that ship sailed long ago; if you’ll excuse me.” One vulgar gesture from Ben and one laughing Sirius later, and Ben is out of the building, trying to catch his breath as he stalks in the direction of the trees. 

“Ben! Ben, wait!” He doesn’t want to, but he does,  _ really _ not wanting to have whatever conversation they need to have now that he’s gone and lost his temper. Her eyes are soft as she catches him and takes a gentle hold of his elbow through his sleeve. “Look, I dunno what happened in there—”

“I’m sorry,” he interjects. “You should go back and finish your drink. I’ll be no fun the rest of the day—”

“Well, that’s a fine way to waste our day.”

_ Our day?  _ She’s thought of this as their shared day? He’s stunned, but recovers as he realises Rey’s still talking: 

“—and I’ve had a lovely time with you and would rather it not end in such a huffy state, but if you’d prefer to brood and sulk over things not pertaining to the day, I’ll leave you to it.” 

“You’ve really had a good time?”

“Of course I have,” she answers as if that would be the most logical thing in the world. She huffs and shakes her head at him even as her lips quirk. “You’re the perfect conversationalist. I think we have loads in common despite our differing fields of study, though if you think about it, healing and defense go hand in hand. And I find you charming and lots of fun to talk to.” 

_ Oh _ . No one’s ever said something like that to him before. Hux and Phasma always made it seem as though they were more friends than allies, and, again, Remus and even Sirius don’t really count. “I’m sorry for stalking out like that. We can go back in if you’d like.” 

“No. It’s all right. I think some fresh air will do you some good.” 

“Likely.” He chews his tongue for a while, debating how he’s going to go about asking, before deciding to go for the obvious: “Did either of your parents fly, too?” She’s giving him a funny look, and he groans at himself, making an airy gesture of his hand. “You said you are a Muggle-born, but you’ve seen the magazines featuring Han—my  _ dad _ … And he’s not  _ that  _ common of a household name.” 

“Ah. I actually don’t know, though I’d highly doubt it.” She takes a few steps back in the direction of the woods and the castle, motioning for him to follow, keeping close enough for the backs of their hands to ghost over each other as they do. Fire shoots up Ben’s arm, tripping down his spine each time, but that’s neither here nor there at the moment. Rey says, “My parents, or maybe just one of them, I can’t remember now… Either way, I was left on a park bench when I was four, and I grew up in a group home. It was honestly quite the ordeal when Professor McGonagall came to deliver my Hogwarts letter… Plutt, my guardian, he used to have me work in his shop before and after school, and he wasn’t too keen on the loss of extra money when it came time for me to leave for Hogwarts every September.” 

His hand acts of its own accord, fingers slotting between hers, and holding on tight as they walk some more.  _ She knows what it’s like _ , his mind shouts to himself.  _ She knows _ .  _ She knows what it is to be thrown away. _

He twists their arms, bringing the back of her hand to his lips so that he can brush the barest of kisses over it. He hates what she’s been through, but his soul can’t help but weep and sing that he’s not alone. That she’d understand him, too. 

“Ben.” He stops moving, and she’s leaning into his space, cupping his cheek with her hand, running her thumb over his jawline. “You know I’m going to ask you at some point why you reacted so to Sirius talking about your parents—but not today.”

“No?” 

“No. No more talk of family or other depressing things for now. I’m too hungry and too desperate for you to bribe the elves into baking us some more ginger biscuits after we ask for lunch leftovers.” Her hand falls to her side, but she’s not moving away yet. Instead, she’s smiling again, lips parting… “And besides, it’s a perfect day, so why darken today’s sunshine with yesterday’s clouds?” 

“That… you know that makes no sense.” 

“But in a metaphorical sense, it completely does.” She winks at him, and he’s going to need her to look away soon enough before he has  _ issues _ under the zipper of his pants… It’s a miracle that she does, and she’s swinging her arms as she walks… Until she adds, “It’s something like what your Gandalf would say, isn’t it?” 

And Ben knows there’s really no recovering from a fall like this.

* * *

“What the bloody hell did you think you were _ doing _ ?” 

Rey’s mad, and he finds it  _ so. damn. attractive. _ Though, that could be the pain potion she just gave him, but he really doesn’t think it is… Because there’s the way her pretty, pretty hazel eyes are flashing and the way those flecks of gold and grey are shining back at him. And then there’s how he can  _ feel _ her magic roiling within her, crackling around her hair. He thinks he should tell her how pretty she is… 

She snorts at him, yanking at the buttons of his vest. He didn’t think he said anything particularly funny, so he repeats what he thinks he said. 

“Nevermind any of that attempt of sweet talk, now, Ben. Not when I’m  _ so _ mad at you.” 

“Whyyoumad?” That doesn’t sound quite right to him. He attempts to speak again, but that somehow sounds even worse than it had before. 

And she’s now attacking the buttons of his shirt, and he likes that. Scratch that—he  _ loves  _ that. He  _ loves  _ she’s shedding his clothes, and it’s positively unfair how many layers of clothing she has on in comparison now—

“Drink this.” She’s holding something to his lips, cradling the back of his head. He likes to think he can feel her stroking his hair as he drinks the vile tasting concoction, but he can’t be sure right now.

All he’s really sure of is the world is fuzzy and everything is turning black, and her voice is the melody he wants to fall asleep to from now on.

* * *

She’s sitting next to his bed when he comes to. 

It warms his heart. It fills him with dread. 

He releases a heavy breath, blinking several times at her, admiring the soft furrow of her brow and the way the lamp resting on the bedside table bathes her in both buttery-yellow light and shadows.

“I can’t figure you out, Ben,” she starts, not looking up from her book.  _ It begins, then _ . She taps a finger against her page. “You have two parents who both loved you—who still love you. Enough to write you, and you just… Something about your history with them sends you into such a rage that you need to take it out on something, and  _ then _ you…  _ you _ …

“And I—” 

“And then there’s the matter of the  _ scars _ .” She snaps her book shut, everything about her still with a cold fury. “I don’t understand. I’ve been under the impression the last three years that the owner of  _ this _ scar—” she jabs her finger into her left side, in the middle of her ribs, “—would be someone who’d be my match. Someone who’d understood how important family and those deep, binding relationships would last. How you  _ don’t _ turn your back on people and  _ abandon  _ them.” 

She’s keeping her voice low somehow, but she’s now hissing. Hissing and spitting her words like venom. 

“Of course you wouldn’t. You  _ couldn’t _ .” He sits upright, shoving away from the pillows he’s propped against. Deep down he knows this is neither the time nor the place, but he’s an injured animal, poised to pounce at anything on the prowl. His gaze narrows and his tone drops. “It’s different when your parents are  _ there _ , but in name only. When they’re around to constantly not show up or never take more than a perfunctory interest in your classes and grades. Or how about knowing even if your dad was proud of your magical achievements, he could never attend anything. Not to mention the part where he resents you for being born with magic because it keeps him from being the father he hoped he could be.” 

He snarls as he finishes, his anger spent, and all he wants to do is lie back and tend to the wounds deep within that have yet to heal, that he’s still working on sorting through. Whether she can see and understand that or not, she doesn’t say anything. She remains seated for several pregnant moments, staring at him, unblinking. 

She says nothing still as she busies herself with other duties about the hospital wing. He doesn’t see Poppy as Rey glides easily here and there, dainty hands making quick work of everything she touches. He’s left to presume she either volunteered to stay with him through the night or she’s stuck with him. 

He’s not sure which he prefers. 

It’s a while before she comes back to him; well, time is relative. It could have been only fifteen torturous minutes, and he’d believe that, but it could have been several heart-rending hours, and Ben would believe that, too. When she comes back to him, her arms are wound tight around her middle, and he’s never seen such sorrow in a pair of eyes before. 

“The First Order, Ben?” 

_ That _ makes him pause—he’s only spoken to Professor Dumbledore about that over his job interview. He hasn’t even divulged everything to Remus. 

His lips part at last. “I fell in with a bad group.”

“The First Order is a great deal more than ‘a bad group.’” Her arms move to fold over her chest, but there’s something almost desperate in her voice when she speaks again. Like he’s wounded  _ her _ specifically. “Think Grindelwald’s reign of horror and you’re nearly there.” 

“Snoke wasn’t advocating for mass domination or extinction.” 

“But you didn’t just  _ fall _ in. You went. Willingly.” 

“How do  _ you _ know all this?” 

She squares her shoulders, and he realises he’s not helping himself here; he’s really not helping himself in volleying with vague answers or asking questions of his own, but she’s not stomping off in a fury. She’s not even backing away from him. Instead, he watches as her chest heaves and she lowers herself to the edge of his bed as she exhales. She’s sitting close enough to his elbow that he can’t help but think that in a single fluid motion, he could have his arm wound around her hips, pulling her up to his chest, his lips… 

But he dreams, of course. 

“The scar on the left side of your ribs.” She floats her hand to hover over where his scar is now covered by a large sleep shirt. Her throat bobs and her gaze flickers from her hand to his eyes, and he nods, and,  _ oh _ . It’s beauty and something divine when her finger traces over his shirt. She murmurs, “There was residual Dark Magic lingering in the skin. It seemed very hostile when I tried a few simple counter-solutions, and I found myself in need of more information if I was going to have a proper go at healing it.” 

“W-were you able to?” He doesn’t bother hiding the shock from his voice or face. 

“Of course I could; I’m one year away from being a fully qualified Healer.” Her finger stills over his shirt, palm now laying flat and her touch searing into his skin and memory. She leans a hint closer. “My point is your parents are your next of kin listed in Professor Dumbledore’s files. I swear that’s all I looked for, but your mum was quite thorough in relaying necessary details.” 

He’s silent, unable to contrive any form of response. Because all his thoughts centre on the fact that she healed him.  _ Rey  _ was able to counter the Dark Magic lingering from Snoke’s curse the day Ben broke free from the First Order. Several different teams of Healers across America had assured him that was impossible…

_ But not for soul magic _ , he concludes, and a dam breaks inside him. He’s ready to talk if she’s interested in listening. “I was mad, all right?” 

“Well, I was mad at Unkar Plutt too—and still am, if I’m honest. He hurt others; he hurt me.” She’s rubbing over her upper right arm, right where his scar has been for the last decade, and he wonders if she’ll tell him about where it came from. Insteads she shakes her head, brows furrowed at him. “But I’m not setting out to plot his untimely demise!” 

“And neither was I, Rey…” He’s shifting in bed, moving to sit up and lean closer. He needs her to see, to  _ understand _ . “Listen, I was angry at my parents in school and was an easy recruit after I graduated, but I was only ever a pawn. A name and power symbol they rolled out when seeking new supporters because of my mom and grandmother and their history with MACUSA.” 

“You hated your father that much?” Tears spring to her eyes, her words cracking, and they shatter something in him—the final stronghold within himself that believed all his actions and choices were justified because of the mistakes his parents made. 

“I didn’t hate him,” he answers, fisting the sheets to keep from pitching forward, cupping her cheeks and wiping every last tear from her eyes. Not the right time for that  _ at all _ . “I never hated Han, but my homelife was far from ideal. Han never minded the magic from Mom when they dated and were newlyweds because it was a separate entity apart from their marriage mostly. Mom kept her magic to work and Dad only saw little household spells until I came along. My first display of accidental magic was when I was four, and I blew up Han’s car because I was mad that he wasn’t taking me on a business trip with him.” 

She giggles and it seems to be in spite of herself, but he rolls his eyes, releasing his grip on the sheets and laying his hands over his lap.

“As you can imagine,” he cocks his head, pushing several straying locks of hair from his eyes, “things spiraled from there. My belief for a while became that if mom hadn’t married a no-maj and instead married someone who actually stood a chance to rival her career, to question and challenge her, maybe things could have been different. Maybe I wouldn’t have felt so guilty for being the source of conflict in their marriage or always felt the need to hide a part of himself because my dad didn’t know how to relate.”

“But still…” 

“I’m not excusing my actions or choices.” He clears his throat, leaning closer and praying to Merlin she’ll allow him these precious inches to inhale her glorious scent. “But that’s how I felt and what I believed at the time. I was wrong and when I saw that, I fought my way out—quite literally, as you well know now. I made a fresh start of things here, made real friends. I even started meeting up with Han once every other month last year… And then you—”

“Me?!” 

_ Shite _ . He hadn’t quite meant to go this far, but then again, maybe he had. 

He’s close enough now that he could dip down and ghost his lips over hers, and she’s not moving. She’s not backing off the bed or scrambling to the other side of the room. So, he ploughs forward. “Yes, you, Rey. You come along to remind me of how it could’ve been, maybe even  _ should _ have been. In you, I feel that I have an idea of what I want and need to be.” 

“What… what do you mean?” 

Her eyes flicker all across his face, and he points to his arm, and the scar she would have seen on him there, the one he presumes she has across her arm. Then his chest. Then gestures between them. “I think you know.” 

She doesn’t answer, but she doesn’t back away. 

“Rey.” Something deep and husky has taken his voice hostage as he dips his face lower, his nose brushing against hers. “You feel it, too. I know you do.” 

“Ben… I…” 

“ _ Rey. _ ” His eyes flutter closed, her breath tickling over his lips.

“HEALER JOHNSON!” 

They startle away from each other, her eyes blown wide as she jumps up from the bed. “I—”

“HEALER JOHNSON! Tilly tried a new braiding spell and all the ribbons got knotted in her hair and we can’t get it out!!!!” 

“I better get that,” she says, almost regretfully, but perhaps that’s his imagination.

But then again, perhaps not.

* * *

She came back, but the moment passed, and he can’t very well snog the third year Healer-trainee as a gaggle of third year Slytherins are clustered close.

It’s been several days, and he’s not had a moment alone with her since the hospital wing. He’s a bundle of nerves and frustrated energy, and honestly, today is a recipe for disaster. It’s a Quidditch match, Gryffindor vs. Hufflepuff, and he’s not only surrounded by a group of former-Gryffindor fans but also very  _ loud _ fans. Involved and boisterous fans, and he’s just really not in the mood for this today. 

Except that Rey’s here. Sitting next to him. Her arms and hands brushing against his multiple times over the course of the match. Her hair catches in the wind, and it flutters around her Gryffindor scarf. When he inhales, he breathes a deep blend of cloves and something floral. He never wants to smell anything else ever again. 

“Foul!! Padfoot, you bloody wanker, you missed that foul!”

“James Potter, you’ll remain seated and watch your language if you wish to continue to attend school matches.” 

Remus snorts on Ben’s left; James curses under his breath as he does as he’s told; and Rey giggles and leans into Ben, whispering in his ear: 

“They’re still like this, then?” 

“Always,” Ben replies, fixing his eyes and face to the pitch, the players… anything else really. Lest, he turn and do something foolish like kiss her. In public. For their first kiss. And risk public rejection. “I guess you never experienced Gryffindor matches from the stands, did you?” 

“Not since I joined the team, but Coach Potter frequented many matches.” 

He nods, because that’s the weekend norm he’s come to know and expect. And in many ways, he’s come to be jealous of James and his life over the last three years: his wife, child, relationship with his parents. And then there’s the fact that  _ everyone _ loves James.

Everyone. 

It’s annoying how much everyone loves James Potter and how keenly aware James is that he’s so beloved by the masses. 

“You shoulda come to try out for the Harpies, Johnson,” James says, and Rey’s attention is momentarily pulled from Ben and the game, and needless to say, Ben’s not happy with this sudden change in events. “They could’ve really given us Falcons a run for our Galleons this season, but Gregs and Davidson were injured and have to sit the next three matches out.” 

“A tragedy, Coach Potter—”

“James, please.” 

Ben’s fist clenches—

“I’m right where I’m meant to be, Coach Potter,” Rey answers, inclining her posture into Ben’s as she looks over her shoulder. “I love the program and I’m one year away from helping kids in ways I’ve been dreaming about for years.” 

Ben’s hand flattens over his jeans, and it’s easier to breathe again. So much easier. 

James goes off on a tangent again, yelling more at Sirius’ “bum ref job.” Meanwhile, Rey shares a look with Ben, shaking her head and looking back to the match. 

But then James pokes him in the back. “Hear Remus sent you to the hospital wing this week, Solo. Thought you knew better than to poke a Moony when it’s time for his furry little problem.”

“Shut it, Pot—”

“We both had a lot on our minds that day, James.” Remus claps a hand over Ben’s back. “Spells can easily go ary when not paying attention, and it ended up being quite the teaching moment for our club members.” 

Rey stills on Ben’s right, keeping mostly to herself for the duration of the match, and  _ again _ , Ben would like nothing more than to punch a stupid, insufferable wizard. After an eternity, Trevors catches the snitch for Gryffindor, but the extra points weren’t enough to beat Hufflepuff. James and Sirius were caught up in arguing the finer points of the match and “bum calls,” while Remus lingered on the outskirts of their heated discussion. 

Ben stood frozen, always feeling like an intruder when the final member of their school friend group came to watch matches, never quite certain where he fit in… And this time, he’s desperately wanting to find Rey, to finally catch her alone, while another part of him would rather neither be obvious in his intent nor rude against his friends…

“Ben?” There’s a tapping on his shoulder, and he’s more relieved than he’s ever been in his life to see Rey standing in front of him on the grassy pitch. “Would you wanna walk around the lake for a bit?” 

“Of course.” They exchange little attempts at half-smiles, not even bothering to wave at the arguing friends as they head off. At first, Ben thinks she’ll start talking, but when she doesn’t, he thinks maybe she’d meant for him to speak first, and his thoughts are moving too fast for him to keep up, so he finally just decides to blurt out: “Was there something specific on your mind, Rey?” 

“Yeah.” Her head bobs and she bites down on her lower lip before meeting his waiting gaze. “You were right.”

“I… pardon?” He’s not used to hearing that from a peer. 

She’s nodding now. “You’re right. About me. About us. I feel it. I’ve felt it since we first shook hands and was scared it was just me. And then I was mad that on the surface you seemed to have the family and life I’d always longed for, only to toss it into the rubbish for even more rubbish. The matching scars infuriated me because I just knew I was being paired with someone who’d once again have me feeling inferior and like I’ll never truly belong to the magical world, but after listening to you… I think I understand.”

“You do?” 

“Mhmm. And what’s done in the past... that’s your past. It’s what you’re still sorting through on your own, and I think it’s brilliant you’re trying to start things new with your dad. Incredible and brave, actually.” 

“I see.” He does. He believes he  _ really _ does… But, perhaps, for the sake of clarity… “And how do you see things for us with regards to this new, slightly terrifying, and otherwise irregular soul bonding magic?” 

She throws back her head and laughs. And laughs, and  _ laughs _ , and he’s not certain if he should be insulted, hurt, or join in. It’s one of the most perfect sounds in the world, after all, and he’d be an idiot not to join in, unless this is at his expense. In the end, he suffices to stuff his hands in his pockets and wait for her to finish laughing and explain herself. 

“Oh Ben,” she finally says, swiping at her eyes, stepping into his space and curling her fingers around his wrist. “It appears that we’re a couple of maladjusted misfits thrown together in the world of magic—”

His heart’s racing, absolutely pounding against its bony cage.

“—and we’ve all the time to get to know each other—”

He’s not sure what to make of  _ that _ … Does that mean friends or more or friends open to more sooner than later? 

“—and I may think you a berk at times, but it seems Fate and magic have seen to it you’re  _ my _ berk.” She points where the scar marks her on her upper right arm and then to where his apparently marks the flesh of her abdomen. “And I think I’m becoming rather pleased with the idea of having you in my life.” 

Chuffed. He’s chuffed and elated and all but bursting as he frees his hand from his pocket and tangles his fingers with hers. She smiles down at their twined hands, swinging them gently in the October afternoon breeze. “And when you say in your life, you mean—”

She stops him from finishing that question with her lips. Quite literally, actually. One second Ben is speaking and a heartbeat later, there’s something mashed against his lips… 

His arms are aware of what’s happening before his mind, binding around her waist instantly. It takes his mind a fraction of a second longer to understand it’s Rey’s lips against his and that she’s kissing him, but as soon as he does, it’s bliss. It’s everything. His tongue is ready to plead entrance into her mouth, but the angle is all wrong, and she seems content with the simplicity of mouths pressing deep into each other. His neck is starting to hurt, but he could remain like this forever. Fucking  _ forever _ . 

It’s humiliating that he whimpers when she breaks their kiss. 

He opens his eyes to see that he’s never seen Rey smile before, because this...  _ this _ is Rey smiling. She’s lit from within and it’s like he can see her colours, her magic, the very essence of her swirling and dancing to a wild and beautiful rhythm that he’d like to learn. Her eyes flit all across his face, and she’s cradling his cheek and threading her fingers in the fringes of his hair. “I mean any way you want me, Ben. We have the time to explore what all of this means.” 

“ _ Rey _ .” It’s a plea, a prayer, an exultation. His soul sings as he dips down and claims her lips with his, adjusting his hold so that she can rest on the soles of her feet and melt into his chest as their kisses turn from slow exploration to dizzying need. She’s here, she’s his and he wants nothing more than to worship all of her with his mouth, his tongue, his teeth, his hands… all of him. All that she could ever want—it’s what he wants to give. 

Whistles, claps, and catcalls eventually catch up to them, but they don’t pull away immediately, just settle for exchanging their frenzied rhythm for one of lazy savoring. And, oh, there are nips and sucks and only Rey, Rey,  _ Rey _ —

Until someone (Sirius, Ben thinks) yells for them to find a room or at least an abandoned alcove.

“We’ll do him one better,” Rey says, threading her fingers through his as she pulls him along. “There’s a batch of cookies and two glasses of milk I’ll bet you can bribe us into getting from the kitchen, and we’re going to take them back to my room.”

Her room 

Her  _ room.  _

_ Her room.  _

Ben’s brain has gone all fuzzy, but Rey is giggling and lifting herself to her tiptoes and brushing her lips over his cheek. 

It’s not much, but it’s enough to bathe Ben in a gentle warm of something new, fresh, inviting. Something transcending. Something that gives him the feeling he’ll never be alone again. 

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading!! I hope you enjoyed!


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